Monthly Archives: July 2007

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So I’m drunker than a skunk right now and it’s only 9 p.m. on Tuesday, and I have a paper and a presentation to throw together for tomorrow. My tolerance for alcohol is either 1 drink or unlimited. Typical me, I don’t have a middle ground. Then again, I have never been a big fan of tequila, so I’m surprised I had those margaritas. Confound you, happy hour!

Stopped at a Jack in the Box on the way home, somehow thinking a milkshake would expedite the sobering process. So far, that’s not the case, but– but! So JitB used to have this Andes Mint shake which I was all about because I love Andes mints, but it was a limited-time sort of thing and now it’s gone. I asked anyway when I pulled up the order menu in the drive-thru, and the guy was all, oh, yeah, we don’t have that shake anymore but we still have the mint pieces, I could put them in a shake for you if you want? And I was stumped, like, what could you put it in? He suggested a plain vanilla shake, and then I asked if he could put it in an Oreo shake. He replied, he probably wasn’t supposed to, but he was bored, so if that’s what I wanted he was willing to humor me.

So that’s what I ordered. He didn’t charge me extra for the mint pieces. And this shake? Yea verily, it is rocking my world. Mint chocolate cookie shake, mmm.

For serious, though, it is absurd that I am THIS STINKING BLITZED right now. Whatever.

I’m leaving for Camp Hollywood in less than an hour. I’m still not packed. Three days (four classes per day) + four nights of social dances = what the fuck am I going to pack?

I’ll be home Monday, I’m guessing with all the bones in my feet and legs still intact. Quite possibly, to quote a conversation from over a year ago which has randomly popped back up into memory, "kind of drunk,
coked up, mostly naked, and with multiple STDs," that being the evidential benchmark of having had too much fun.

I haven’t traveled anywhere with a group of people who know me for… two years. So I’m kind of hesitant about all this. But then, the last time, I didn’t have my car and this time I will– I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. It really doesn’t.

History doesn’t lie. Annoying as she was from the very start, I was all about Avril Lavigne’s first radio single, "Complicated." It’s *catchy*, dammit. But then I saw the video and started reading her interviews, and she annoyed the living shit out of me, to where I would actually change the radio station if any of her songs came on. Which says a lot, for someone as indifference-capable as I am. Then "Sk8er Boi" hit the airwaves and I started to refer to her as "Advil," even though whereas the namesake is meant to relieve aggravating pain, she simply induced and furthered it.

Fast-forward five years. She’s got a new single, "Girlfriend," and I’m beginning to wonder if I shouldn’t be letting bygones be bygones, I’m not one to hold a grudge and surely she’s grown and matured and whatever. Because– well– shit. The song. It’s catchy. (Dammit!)

And then I see the video.

Made me want to hunt that girl down and deliver a swift left hook to her jaw. (Also, for you literaries: doesn’t she look like "Cathy," from Steinbeck’s "East of Eden"? With her creepy eyes and her creepy teeth?) I change the station when that song plays, now. Which means I have to change the station A LOT.

On the complete opposite of the spectrum, I really did NOT want to like T-Pain’s "Bartender" because of the opening line ("Broke up with my girl last night so I went to the club")– understand the first time I heard this was the beginning of June, and, hey, I’m human. But the hook is so cute! How can you not adore that hook?

And: Mos Def is so fun. I remember seeing that years ago; super surprised I remembered about it, a little less surprised that I was able to unearth it on YouTube. @1:00:30 is when it kicks in for me. And, ha! For two seconds, yup, they’re "driving backwards." Oh, Chappelle.

I attacked my cuticles last night in a desperate attempt to escape
rock-bottom boredom (and also to further avoid studying), and I shit you not, my nails have never looked so
awesome. I would have sex with these nailbeds, they’re just *that*
goddamned amazing.

I was going to scorn all you men for not being appreciative enough of these
sorts of things when it comes to ogling women, but then I remembered
that I live in a city full of (CARD) dealers, and lemme tell you: men
who deal (CARDS)? They notice a woman’s hands, so there’s hope yet for the rest of you. Double the awesome, and
suddenly today’s not seeming so ominous after all.

Just like that. Just like that, we fall into easy, giddy conversation as though it hasn’t been months since the last time we talked. And not because we had a falling out or anything like that, but because that’s just how we are. It’s how we’ve been for years. Somehow, it’s barely even relevant that we talk to each other so rarely, as though we already know the most important things about each other– or, as Socrates might suggest, all the essential properties– and that more than suffices when it comes to forging and maintaining such a bond.

Seven hours. I was infuriated and impatient and at times, delirious (didn’t start until after 11 p.m.)– now I can’t stop crying. It was perfect, it was beautiful, it was horrifying, it was gorgeous, but now it’s over, it’s over and I’m fishing desperately in the air for something to fill this sudden emptiness.

Some solace has the potential to be found in Susanna Clarke’s "Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell," which I finished reading for the third time a few months ago but might need to pick up again, just for this purpose.

I’ve got the last Harry Potter book sitting on my desk in front of me. I had to go to Wal-Mart to get it because the bookstores were all out and I didn’t feel like putting myself on some stupid "Reserved" list, which would entail another day or two of waiting before the book was in my hands. One to two days more? Um, no thanks, I’ll just mosey across the street to the Whore of Low Prices, where they had a couple hundred copies out on the floor alone.

I didn’t get the book last night because I was being stubborn. The last three books in the series, I was at Borders at midnight, in line with all the other die-hard fans– and immediately after, I would rush home, curl up in bed and read the book start to finish (usually about five hours straight). For this one, though– I don’t know. I didn’t want to leave the Aruba and drive across town to a bookstore, so I stayed active on the dance floor and, to boot, made plans for this morning so I wouldn’t be tempted to buy it as soon as the stores opened and waste my whole day reading it.

I have to admit– I’ve got a lot of hesitancy about opening this book. Not because I have reservations about the plot and all the rumors that have been floating around regarding what happens and who dies, etc.– but because– as silly as this sounds– I’m not ready for this to be over. I’m not ready for the series to end. I always feel like I’ve just said a very sad good-bye to a very good friend whenever I finish an engaging book– even if it’s the 25th time I’ve read it! And furthermore, I’m always conflicted: I want more because I love the book and its characters so much, and yet the ending is so perfect that I couldn’t ask for it to be any other way, which is what "more" would entail.

And so this book has been sitting here on my desk for three hours now, untouched. The emptiness that’s going to follow the turning of the last page is going to be hard to bear. I’d rather not have to, then. I’d rather, as Shaw so inspirationally puts it, dream things that never were and say, "Why not?"– just leave the thing unopened and leave matters unresolved. But I’m smarter than that (now, anyway). So, here it goes. Here, it ends.

We’ve started cooking for my FAB class. I’m cooking! I never cook unless it’s for other people, and it usually ends up that "other people" = "boyfriends," and seeing as how I’ve not had one for almost two months now and when I did have one last, he lived in a different state, I’ve not been cooking much lately and oh, it’s nice to be bustling around a kitchen again. Not to mention a professional kitchen stocked up the wazoo.

It’s odd, but I’ve always been attracted to men who enjoy partaking in things I don’t much care for myself (smoking excluded): coffee, meat, alcohol. I don’t drink coffee, I don’t eat meat or fish and I’m not much of a drinker (though these last few weeks might argue otherwise)– but my boyfriends always have and have been. In fact, I *look* for those qualities in potential dates. I adore men who drink coffee because I love the smell of it, particularly first thing in the morning, and a guy who doesn’t say no to a beer is quite likely also a guy who doesn’t say no to social gatherings in a bar, and I love bars.

The meat thing– it’s less that I’m attracted to carnivores than it is I’m attracted to omnivores. Because I love to cook and I’m *good* at cooking, and I like knowing that the guy I’m dating will be willing to eat most anything I create in the kitchen. It’s kind of hypocritical, I know, unless you know the prime, foundational reason why I’m a vegetarian, and of course you don’t because no one does– though there is exactly one person who knows the prime, foundational reason why I’m not much of a drinker– but in any case– yeah. I can create miracles with chicken. Have you tried my pot pie? Probably not, but, oh honey, trust me: you should. It trumps "Caring Is Creepy" "New Slang" in totally changing your life.

What’s that? While I’m on the subject of boys, why don’t I talk about the science factor? Well! Since you asked!

Another odd fact is that I’ve never been attracted to liberal arts majors, despite having been the poster child of liberal arts majors (Comm is maybe the only thing that comes close to rivaling English) and despite having an otherworldly passion for the liberal and dramatic arts. I’ve documented this before– boyfriends or crushes or whatever have, in the past, actually tended to fall under a Computing/IT umbrella. But since having ventured down the path of obtaining a degree of my own in CpE, I’ve found myself fascinated by the physics and life science majors. Theoretically, anyway. It doesn’t hurt that the BPB is a pretty awesome building to kill time between classes in. It also doesn’t hurt that I am head-over-heels in love with xkcd and have been for… well… for over a year now. Wow! Who knew it had been that long?

This post is veering in a direction that ends in me listing off all the qualities I find attractive in guys, so I’m going to shut up now because those lists never lead to anything good.

On another note, whoever decided to read (slash-click) through every single post I’ve ever written using Typepad today between the hours of 10 and 11:30 a.m., thereby *tripling* my typical daily site stats? I would be in admiration for your zealotry, but chances are you’re either insane or a spambot, so in place of admiration, here’s some reprobation: didn’t you have anything better to do today? Honey, *sleeping* would be more productive.

So I’m watching "The Pursuit of Happyness" and trying to remember whom I saw this movie with the first time around.

Toward the end, Will Smith delivers his line: "Because some things are fun the first time you do them, and not so much the next."

And then I remember EXACTLY who was sitting next to me in that theater because right after that line? He nudged me with his elbow and gave me a *look*– one of those "I’m lookin’ at you, and ain’t *that* the truth" looks– and I scowled and hit him. And then couldn’t stop laughing. Yeah, I remember perfectly well now. Ass.